Candy Wrapper
by Wicked.Intentions
Summary: Cartman/Clyde, one-sided Cartman/Kyle. Eric Cartman exploits the sweet tooth of Clyde Donovan while aiming for Kyle Broflovski. What he didn't count on was changing Clyde's whole outlook.
1. Dirty Jew Magic

**Disclaimer:** _South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _Candy Wrapper_

**Complete Story Summary****:** Eric Cartman exploits the sweet tooth of Clyde Donovan while aiming for Kyle Broflovski. What he didn't count on was changing Clyde's whole outlook.

**Story Pairings:** Eventual Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan, one-sided (obsession, not love) Eric Cartman/Kyle Broflovski.

**Story Rating****:** M

**Chapter Content:** Explicit language, anti-Semitism, general discrimination.

**Introductory Notes****:** Here is my first story! I have been recently very interested in this pairing, and there are not nearly enough stories for it. I honestly have read all the ones that appeal to me about twenty times each. Hopefully this story will encourage more of you to add to the database of Cartman/Clyde fan fiction. Please enjoy.

_Notice:_ By the way, I do not believe in the changing of ages unless it is an alternate universe that calls for it. All of the characters are the ages that they were during Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman's year in fourth grade.

I try to have some meaning in the titles of my stories, rather than just typing things like "_EricxClyde Luv_" or "_Greatest Fan Fiction Ebur_." The meaning behind my title is simple to understand as you read further into my story. Clyde is like a candy wrapper to Cartman. Cartman needs to manipulate the wrapper (Clyde), to get to a much greater prize, the candy hidden within (Kyle). Also, I chose a "candy wrapper" in particular because a main theme in this story is Clyde's desire for sweets, which is something I've noticed that he has in the actual series. There was also an episode that involved Cartman using that to his advantage to persuade Clyde to vote for his preferred mascot for the school by offering him butterscotch candies. I forgot the title, but I'm sure we all, being such hardcore _South Park_ fans that we actually read and write fan fiction about it, know of it.

With all that being said, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter Summary:** Cartman reflects on just what it is that makes him so obsessed with Kyle and plots on how to lose his addiction.

* * *

**Chapter One: Dirty Jew Magic**

There he is.

He's taunting and teasing me with even the most subtle movements. His emerald green eyes sparkle with life and while they are not necessarily full of a beautiful innocence, it's breathtaking the way they suck you into their depths. I narrow my eyes at the brief fluttering of charcoal black lashes against pale peach skin that is lightly dusted with snowflakes, accompanied with the stretching of his thin lips into a boyish grin.

He brushes against Stan Marsh. There are about three layers of clothing separating his flawless Jew skin from the snow jacket of Stan, but it doesn't matter to me. Everyone will always be too close to him for my comfort.

He has a Jew fro that needs to be _seriouslah_ be tamed, and I know I have picked on him in the past for it. I'm sure that any other color or style would not have instilled such disgusting feelings inside me, and that's what really pisses me off. I want to sneak into his room at night and cut it all off; maybe I will also dye it a different color—black, perhaps. Stan doesn't appeal to me at all.

With my luck, it's not his hair that makes me want to do things that I have only heard from the sixth graders. It can't possibly be his—_anorexic, skinny, rib-showing_—lithe body. There are too many people in this grade with a frame almost exactly with him. That asshole, Stan, is a good example.

Dare I say it? It could be the fact that he's a dirty Jew. My inner Nazi gets sadistic delight out of him crying and feeding it delicious, salty Jew tears. It's also that inner Nazi that wants him to get on his knees and lick my balls like the submissive, worthless piece of kike he is.

Maybe I am messed up. Maybe it's not me.

Whatever the case is, I'm harboring a sick obsession with the Jew, and nothing I have done has seemed to change that.

My eyes break away from Kyle Broflovski to briefly scan the playground. I have seated myself upon a swing, which is groaning in anguish under my weight, so that I may see everything that is going on.

I spot the gullible dumbass, Butters, instantly. He is being a pussy with the rest of the pussies. Pip, some second-grade kid with curly red hair and freckles that I don't recognize, Kevin, and him are busy throwing down cards onto a portable game board. No doubt another infamous South Park faggy fad.

Kevin seems to be trying to incorporate his _Star Wars_ shit in with the game, much to the other's annoyance. What a gay wad.

I zero in on what they are playing.

Oh.

Mahm was supposed to go to the store to buy me a few packs of those cards today. I think it's called "Sorcery" or something equally gay. One of these days, I will go over there and beat their asses at it like I always do.

Some kid is glaring at me for taking the last swing. I flip him off absentmindedly and kick my feet. They don't reach the ground yet, but since I'm a growing boy, it's a matter of time before I'll be taller than everyone else. I _am_ big-boned, aren't I?

Shaking my head slightly at getting off track, I move on to the next group that attracts my attention. The bunch of bitchy sluts, Bebe, Red, Annie, Heidi, and Wendy. They are not worth any further thought, so I continue on to the next.

Ah, there's our "rival" group, so to speak: Tweek, Token, Craig, Jason, and Clyde. They are once again looking haughty and better than everyone else. Well, I suppose Clyde isn't. He just has a bored expression on his face. He never seems to be interested in anything. What a boring asshole.

Craig and Token are terrorizing Tweek. I wonder when that twitchy spaz will drop over dead from overdosing on caffeine and twitching so much. Is that even possible? I never cared.

Not too far from them are the cripple team, Jimmy and Timmy. They are making their way over towards the fag group to watch them play their cards. Jimmy probably has a new joke to share. I find the jokes amusing, don't get me wrong, but I can't stand his goddamn stuttering.

Well, that's pretty much everyone worth mentioning.

I return my attention to Kenny, Stan, and Kyle. They are playing football by themselves. They don't seem to notice that I'm gone, but then again, they never did. Whatever.

I think I need to get a new notebook. I filled my last one with plots to kill Kyle, and I need new plots—plots to get him out of my head.

I can't sleep.

I can't drink.

I can't eat—er, let's not get too ahead of ourselves now.

All I can think about is that fucking Jew. If I actually bothered to do my menial homework, it would be hazardous to me in an academic aspect, but I blew that a long time ago. The only ways I ever redeem myself is by presenting my wonderful speeches or reports. Oh, yeah, those are the best. I hardly spend half an hour preparing for them, and I always seem to do a much better job than the whole class.

My thoughts are constantly jumping. Let's go back to the plots. Now is as good enough time as any to plan. I usually have a great memory, so I can just transfer my thoughts onto paper when I get home anyways.

If I had something of his, would I finally find some sort of peace within myself? I'm probably stressing over the fact of how I can't get close enough to him to really make him suffer. I could do whatever I wanted to that possession of his, and I would be satisfied. It was worth a try.

And if it didn't work, I always could make a new plot. I'm Eric Cartman, aren't I?

The only problem was that I couldn't do it by myself. I needed someone to help me distract the right people and serve as a lookout while I try out the methods I come up with.

Immediately in the past, I would chose Butters as my gullible assistant, but he stopped totally trusting me after I locked him in a bomb shelter for a week and led him to believe that the world was ending. He also wouldn't willingly do something against Kyle. He invited him to his birthday party, and Kyle returned the favor. It was a secret code or something.

I would never ask any of the girls to help, and cripples are too noisy. Craig is a self-righteous asshole, Token is a black asshole, Tweek is a spazzy asshole, and Jason is just a "background prop" asshole.

Clyde, however…

There were possibilities.

I knew he had a sweet tooth that could rival even mine sometimes. Mahm had just bought out all the leftover Halloween candy from the store, so I could bribe him with that. He only ever cared about himself anyways. As long as he's happy, he'll go along with whatever I said.

"Hey, fatass, why're you staring at Clyde?" Stan's voice pierced my thoughts.

"Yeah, he might think you're interested in him or something." Kyle snorted, crossing his arms and giving me a suspicious look.

"I'm not interested in Clyde!" I retorted instantly. "And it's none of your business!" I stare at Kyle unblinkingly, swinging slightly back and forth in place.

"Whatever. Wanna play football with us? It's kind of lame with only three people."

I roll my eyes at Stan and heave myself out of the seat of the swing. "Fine. Let's go, fags." Waddling slightly away, I notice from the corner of my eye that the kid from earlier has already stolen my swing. Goddamn it.

I'll have to bribe Clyde tomorrow at recess. But for now, I'm going to kick ass all over the pretend football field with my sweet body.

The Jew thinks he's got me beat. I'll show him.

He smirks in my direction as if reading my thoughts—or it could be the fact that he thinks he'll score a touchdown and I won't get in his way.

Just like he won't win this game with me in the way, he won't control my mind any longer. His dirty Jew magic isn't going to hold me captive!


	2. Chocolate, the Temptress

**Disclaimer:** _South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _Candy Wrapper_

**Complete Story Summary:** Eric Cartman exploits the sweet tooth of Clyde Donovan while aiming for Kyle Broflovski. What he didn't count on was changing Clyde's whole outlook.

**Story Pairings****:** Eventual Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan, one-sided (obsession, not love) Eric Cartman/Kyle Broflovski.

**Story Rating****:** M

**Chapter Content****:** Explicit language, anti-Semitism, general discrimination, slight sexual implications.

* * *

**Chapter Summary:** Cartman persuades Clyde to help him with his plans by offering him candy.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Chocolate, the Temptress**

It was a regular day. Mom woke me up from a deep sleep—I slightly recall my dream being about a Baskin Robins being made right across from my house. I had about an hour to get ready for school, eat breakfast, and get down to the bus stop in time to catch a ride to school. It was mediocre, but it was life.

I wandered into the bathroom, flipping the light switch on and throwing my pajamas into the clothes hamper inside. I stood in just my light blue boxers and brushed my teeth, staring dully into the mirror above the sink. For a moment, my eyes strayed down to my midsection. I poked my side and was dissatisfied with how squishy it was. I wasn't fat. …Right?

Brushing it off, I finished with my toothbrush and abandoned it on the side of the sink where I had found it. I went back to my room and searched through my dresser drawers for some clothes to wear. I chose my regular grey pants and a white shirt to wear under my red sweater, which I found thrown over my desk chair. I buttoned it up and stuffed my hands into the pockets, making my way downstairs for some breakfast.

Nothing interesting ever happened to me. I was always left behind while Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny went out on cool adventures. I would never admit it to them or show it to anyone, but I was jealous. I wanted to be a part of something like that.

We weren't exactly friends, but we weren't enemies either. Didn't that count for something? If I hung out with them more, I'm sure that I would get to do something cool too.

"Clyde, honey, what would you like for breakfast?"

"Cereal, I guess," I replied, stepping into the kitchen where my mother was. I seated myself at the table and waited for my food.

Where were my books? Oh, yeah, I didn't have homework, so I didn't bother to bring them home.

As soon as I was given a bowl of some really sweet cereal, I scooped some of it onto my spoon and munched on it thoughtfully. This was all the sugar I was allowed anymore since my mother had discovered how much I had been eating. I couldn't help it though. I was just irresistibly drawn to sweet things. It was my biggest weakness. That, and my envy.

I sighed, finishing the last of my breakfast. I had ten minutes to get to the bus stop. I hopped off the stool I was sitting on and said goodbye to my mother. Passing through the living room, I also said goodbye to my father, who was watching the morning South Park news.

I let myself out into the cold and stomped through the slushy snow beneath my feet. I shivered slightly and rubbed my hands together to generate some heat.

When I had reached the end of the walkway that led up to my front door, I was greeted by Craig and Tweek. Token's parents had one of their butlers drive him to school; he was too rich to ride a lame school bus.

We walked together in silence—except for the occasional "Oh, Jesus!" or "Agh, _god_!" from Tweek, that is—until the bus stop was in sight. Pretty much everyone who lived on our side of the town was already gathered there and waiting for the bus to arrive.

The first thing I noticed, which sent a shiver up my spine that was not associated with the cold weather, was Eric Cartman staring straight at me. I glanced around, but Craig and Tweek had already hurried forward to begin socializing in the crowd. I was standing alone, and _Eric Cartman_ had his eyes set on _me_.

God, help me.

Nervously, I edged towards Craig for some security, but Cartman was suddenly there in front of me, blocking my way.

"Clyde, how nice to see you."

I shuddered at the way my name rolled off his tongue. It actually sounded more like "Clahyde," like a pet name.

"I have a proposition for you." He got right to business. "Meet me beside the school at recess." As an afterthought, he added, "_Alone_."

I opened my mouth to question why I should be interested in anything he had to offer when he slipped something into my pocket. Without another word, Cartman sauntered off to rejoin his group.

I cautiously stuck my hand into my pocket and fished for whatever it was that he had given me. When my hand closed around it, I jerked it out to look at it.

My mouth dropped open, and I nearly salivated. A chocolate bar! I haven't had one in so long. Without a second thought, I unwrapped and chewed graciously on it. The sweet milk chocolate melted on my tongue, bathing my senses with a warm blanket of liquid awesomeness.

My eyes shot up, and I was startled to see Cartman lock gazes with me. A short dribble of chocolate escaped from the corner of my lips. His lips curled into a knowing smirk. I watched as he pulled a couple more chocolate bars from his jacket pocket.

Hungrily, I eyed them, swiping my tongue over my lips.

He put them back into his pocket and out of my sight.

I felt numb. I needed them.

Recess couldn't come fast enough, I mused as I shuffled over to Craig, Tweek, and Jason.

* * *

I had to deal with the fact that Cartman was sitting right in front of me the entire class period. In his pocket, nearly hanging out, were the candy bars. The fatass had made sure that I could see them the entire time and not forget about his meeting.

I really didn't want to go anywhere with him alone. I decided to try to take the chocolate from his pocket during class. If he had nothing to offer me, I didn't have to go.

And people thought I was dumb.

Leaning forward, I stretched my arm towards Cartman's right pocket, and my heart began to pound with my anxiety of being caught by him.

"Agh, dude, what are you doing?!" Tweek whispered from the seat right behind me. "Jesus, what if the teacher sees you? You'll get sent—_urk_!—to the principal's office for stealing!"

I turned my head slightly while still reaching to reassure him, "Tweek, I won't get caught—"

"Clyde, what the hell do you think you're trying to do to Eric?!"

At Mrs. Garrison's voice, everyone's eyes were suddenly on me. I could hear snickering starting up from my sadistic classmates, who were hungry for a distraction.

Cartman glanced down at my fingers, which were mere inches away from his fat ass. His lips twitched into a small smirk.

"That is not appropriate during class! You wait until after school!"

I could feel my cheeks heat up in utter embarrassment. I sputtered out my pitiful excuse, "Mrs. Garrison, I was just—"

"Oh, talking back, are we?! You just earned yourself a trip to the principal's office, smartass!"

Tweek cried out unhelpfully, "Oh, _god_, I told you!"

"No recess today either! You march yourself out of this classroom and think about how your poor classmates were distracted! They could remain complete retards forever because of you!"

I sighed and squeezed myself past Cartman and the other kids, avoiding everyone's eyes. Dragging my feet, I dejectedly took the hall pass Mrs. Garrison had scribbled for me. As I was leaving the room, I heard her mutter, "Little fag…"

I crossed my arms, allowing the door to swing shut behind me. With the slowest possible pace I could manage, I walked to the principal's office. It wasn't as if she knew I was coming. I could skip… Well, maybe not. My mom would eventually hear about it, and I would be grounded. That would be uncool.

Still, that didn't stop me from taking the longest route to her office.

"Clahyde, wait up!"

I paused in mid-step at that familiar voice.

Cartman panted, skidding to a stop next to me. "C'mon, let's go talk in the bathroom." He gripped my arm and tugged me into the nearest boys' bathroom, locking the door, before I knew what had happened.

…Why did the school bathroom have a lock?

He rubbed his hands together eagerly, staring me down with a devilish, scheming gleam in his eyes.

I felt trapped, and the now commonplace rhythm of my increased heart rate filled my ears. Uneasily I took a few steps backwards. "W-what do you want, Cartman? How did you get out of class?"

"I just told Mrs. Garrison to suck my balls, _Clahyde_. It works every time." He registered my original question and explained, "I need someone to help me sneak into Kahl's house to take something of his. Since Butters is an untrusting little pussy, you're my last option."

I didn't like the sound of that. "Why do you need to take something from Kyle?"

He appeared angered for a moment, glaring at me for asking the simple question.

After a few seconds of total, echoing silence, he replied defensively, "I just do, okay?!"

"That's not much of an answer…"

He flew forward, grabbing me by the collar of my red sweater and yanking me towards him. "Listen, asshole, just do what I say or you don't get your chocolate!"

Gulping audibly, I nodded. He let go of me, and I stumbled backwards. I caught my balance with the edge of a sink.

"Kahl's parents have to go to his brother's open house thing tonight and they have to take him. We'll be breaking into his house then."

"What exactly do I have to do?"

"Simple: I need a lookout. You'll hide in the bushes beside his house and under Kahl's window. You'll tell me if the Jews return so we don't get in trouble."

"Hey, you're the one breaking into their house. Why would I get in trouble for it?"

"'Cause I'll turn you in, asshole! You're an accomplice to this whole operation. Don't forget it, Clahyde!"

Feeling more and more hesitant about helping Cartman, I shifted my weight onto my other foot and averted my eyes to the stalls with graffiti on them. I couldn't handle that intense look in the fatass's eyes.

"Anyway, meet me at my house sometime later after school. You know where it is, right?"

I nodded.

"All right. Well, I'm going to hang out here for the rest of recess. No fucking way I'm going to the principal's office." He leaned against the wall and arched an eyebrow at me, expecting to hear what I was going to do.

"I have to go to the principal's office," I muttered, making my way towards the door.

He grunted in response. "Whatever, fag." That seemed to have suddenly reminded him of the scene I had made in Mrs. Garrison's classroom earlier. "Oh, and if you wanted to touch my sweet ass, you could have asked." He turned around and shook it at me. "_Mm_, you like that, _Clahyde_? Yeah…"

I flipped him off before the door closed behind me, a scowl making its way onto my face. I didn't feel like explaining myself to _him_, of all people. I continued towards half an hour of sitting in a plastic seat outside of Principal Victoria's office.

What was I getting myself into? Why couldn't I have made plans to hang out at home and play video games and eat junk food like a normal kid? Instead, I was helping _Eric Cartman_ break into the _Broflovski_ house so that he could steal something from _Kyle_. And I wasn't even sure why he wanted to! I wasn't in on the whole plan despite being a big part of it!

…Damn you, chocolate.


	3. The Strike of an Aluminum Bat

**Disclaimer:** _South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _Candy Wrapper_

**Complete Story Summary:** Eric Cartman exploits the sweet tooth of Clyde Donovan while aiming for Kyle Broflovski. What he didn't count on was changing Clyde's whole outlook.

**Story Pairings:** Eventual Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan, one-sided (obsession, not love) Eric Cartman/Kyle Broflovski.

**Story Rating****:** M

**Chapter Content:** Explicit language, some stereotyping.

* * *

**Chapter Summary:** Cartman and Clyde prepare to raid Kyle's room.

* * *

**Chapter Three: The Strike of an Aluminum Bat**

"Mahm, get the goddamn door!" I bellowed from my spot in front of the television when the sound of the doorbell interrupted my viewing. _The Terrance and Phillip_ _Show_ was on, and I wasn't missing it just to answer the door.

When Mahm never showed herself, even for the second doorbell, I concluded that she probably wasn't even home. Heaving myself off the couch with a grunt of displeasure, I growled, "Hold on a fucking second!" when the doorbell sounded for the third time.

I swung the door open, coming face to face with Clyde. He had an indifferent look on his face—it was quite different from how restless he was in the school bathroom earlier. My anger dissipated instantly, and I gave him a wicked smile.

"Clyde, come in." I was sure my voice sounded sugary sweet; he probably loved it. I stepped back and allowed him entry to my house.

He did as I told him to, and I noticed his eyes wandering to the television.

"We have a while," I reminded him. "You're early."

"I know." He appeared slightly uncomfortable. "I, uh, didn't have anything else to do."

Bullshit. I knew that he didn't want to chance backing out of it. The more time he spent at home, the more the guilt would build up inside him. He really wanted the chocolate, didn't he? Well, it didn't matter to me as long as he didn't pussy out on me.

I merely arched an eyebrow at his response before reclaiming my spot on the couch. Others could tell it was my spot because of the sunken-in appearance. I practically lived on this couch. I slid my bowl of Cheesy Poofs onto my lap and shoveled a handful into my mouth, snickering at the antics of the Canadians on the television.

Clyde awkwardly climbed onto the couch next to me and stared at the flickering screen. "Where's your mom?"

Irritated by the nasally voice that filled the room, I retorted, "None of your damn business, Clyde!" It wasn't as if _I_ knew. Fucking asshole just had to remind me that I didn't have a constant, large family that lived in the same house to sit with me on the couch and watch shows.

He picked up on my none-too-subtle hint for him to shut the hell up. Good.

It wasn't long before my mind began to skip onto its favorite subject—Kyle. I couldn't even enjoy Terrance and Phillip without that Jew messing it up nowadays. He would probably get some kind of pleasure out of how messed up he was making me. Dirty Jew magic at its most powerful—I'm telling you.

I could hardly wait to take something from his room. I was already making plans as to what I would do with it. Setting it on fire? Cleaning the toilet with it? Giving it to Kitty as a scratch toy? There were too many possibilities.

"What time are we going to Kyle's house?"

He couldn't keep his mouth closed, could he? Sighing dramatically, I replied, "Later, Clyde."

"So, are we just going to watch T.V. all day?"

His voice was grating on my nerves. I had to do something to shut him up! "Goddamn it… Fine, what do you want to do, then?" I don't entertain guests well. Everyone knows that.

"Do you have video games?"

I glanced at him. "Mahm took them away for a few weeks because she found my notebook full of plans to kill Kyle. If I want to play any right now, I'll have to go to Stan's or something."

"Oh."

Ugh, Clyde is the goddamn _king_ of awkward silences sometimes.

"I'm gonna go look for Mahm. Stay here." I hopped off the couch and went into the kitchen. Where the hell was she? I needed more snacks. I deposited my empty snack bowl on the counter and went back into the living room. I climbed up the stairs to see if she was in her room or mine folding laundry or something.

* * *

When Cartman had finally left the room, I relaxed more, setting back into the worn cushions. It was actually pretty comfortable; it was no wonder that he spent so much time on it.

I wormed my hands in between the cushions I was sitting on and was surprised to find something deep within the couch. I grasped the object and tugged it out. In my hands was a green toy that appeared to have been handled too much. It was sewn back together in multiple places.

I couldn't contain a smile at the thought of Cartman still playing with dolls. And what the hell was up with the frog-like thing? It hardly even _looked_ like a frog. Wait, was it a frog? Ugh, my head… Damn thing was messing with me.

I decided to tease Cartman about it when he got back.

Truthfully, there were several reasons why I was at Cartman's house so early in the day when normal kids were out ice skating at Stark's Pond or snacking on junk food and not doing their homework.

When I had gotten home, my mom had called me her "honest little prince" and sent me through a guilt trip that nearly made me burst into tears in front of my parents. I couldn't look at my mom when she was putting me on such a high pedestal like that. I knew that I was betraying her trust by going through with Cartman's plan, and I knew I just had to get out of my house before the growing guilt killed me. I'm not exactly sure if that's possible, but it felt like it could.

Another reason is because I had promised myself that I would hang out more with Kyle, Kenny, Stan, and Cartman so that I could go on cool adventures too. A mediocre life for a kid wasn't a way to live. And why were those assholes so special that they got to be in the spotlight all the time? I was just as good as any of them.

I noticed Cartman coming down the staircase—alone.

"You didn't find your mom?" I inquired, slightly curious as to where Mrs. Cartman was.

"No," he grumbled. Fatass was probably pissed off that he had to get his own snacks.

Or worse…

"Hey, _Clahyde_…"

Fuck.

"Will you get me some snacks?"

His voice sent shivers down my spine. It was so persuasive and filled with dark intentions. I knew that tougher people than myself had cracked by just listening to it.

"Uh…" I was hesitant. Who knew what he'd do to my spot while I wasn't looking.

It was then that he had finally climbed back onto the couch and noticed the doll in my hands. He glanced back and forth between it and me a few times.

"What are you doing with Clahyde Frog?"

So it was a frog. But…

"Clyde?" I just had to ask.

"I didn't name it after you, if that's what you're wondering!" He shot back, swiping the stuffed frog from me. He tossed it aside almost regretfully before centering his attention on me again. "Snacks?"

I shrugged before complying with his request. If I didn't, who knew what he'd do to _my_ parents. Or my dog.

I entered the kitchen and noticed a small gray cat rubbing against the counters and meowing at me eagerly. Ignoring it, I searched the cupboards for any type of junk food. To my surprise, every one of the cupboards I had looked in had some type of unhealthy, sugary snack. I was jealous.

I took a few different snacks—a cheesy one, a chocolate one, and some kind of sugar-coated one—and retrieved a bowl to pour them into.

The cat meowed at me obnoxiously, its eyes begging me for food. God, did Cartman ever feed this thing?

I glared at it.

When its meows didn't cease, I grumbled almost automatically, "No, kitty, these are people snacks."

"Oh, yeah, you're a natural."

I jumped at the voice coming from the door to the living room. Cartman had been leaning against the doorframe, watching me. Creepy bastard.

Nervously, I spilled a few Cheesy Poofs under his strict supervision. When I opened the next box of snacks after all the Cheesy Poofs had been deposited into the bowl, he asked, "What do you think you're doing, Clahyde?"

"I was just going to put all the snacks in one bowl and mix them up," I answered truthfully and without any doubt. "That's what my mom used to do for me. It's good."

I glanced up at him, and I saw him nod slightly.

"Good idea. I should make Mahm do that for me from now on."

I quickly poured the last box into the bowl and used my hand to mix the contents up. It looked delicious.

Apparently, Cartman found it also delicious because he surged forward and snatched the bowl from me before I could take a piece. "Come, Clahyde."

Like an obedient dog, I followed. He took his spot on the couch, and just as I was about to do the same beside him, he held out a hand, preventing me from doing so.

"What?" I furrowed my brow and waited impatiently at his feet.

"Rub my feet first," he ordered with a decidedly sadistic smile.

"No way," I replied instantly. I didn't touch people's feet. That was gay.

He examined his fingernails as if they were the most interesting things in the entire room. "Well, if you want to sit on the floor, that's fine, Clahyde…"

Rubbing people's feet was gay. But sitting on the floor in front of a perfectly good couch was even gayer. "Okay."

He closed his eyes in silent satisfaction and kicked off his shoes, presenting his small feet, which were disproportionate to his body. Reluctantly, I took his right foot into my hands and began to press my fingers against it. I had no clue as to what I was supposed to do.

"No, no, you're just poking them. You really have to rub them." He folded his arms behind his head and leaned back, shoving his feet into my face.

I grimaced at the smell of them and did as he asked, alternating between both of his appendages.

"Ahh, just like that. _Yesss_."

When he finally deemed his feet as rubbed enough, he patted the cushion beside him to give me permission to join him.

I scrambled up to it and panted from the effort. When I reached over to grab a handful of the snacks to properly enjoy Terrance and Phillip's jokes, he placed it out of my reach. "Dude, you just touched my feet! Go wash your sick-ass hands before you contaminate the food!"

So even he admitted that his feet were disgusting.

I cursed him under my breath. Why did I even bother?

* * *

"All right, it's time!" I called up to Clyde, who was in the bathroom.

It was about seven o'clock and Mahm had yet to show herself. I didn't care as much as I let on. Maybe a part deep, _deep_ inside of me cared, but I wouldn't let it interfere with my master plan.

"Hold on." His voice floated down to me.

I rubbed my hands together and lifted my backpack onto my shoulders. It was filled with provisions. Snacky Cakes, Cheesy Poofs, and other assorted, unhealthy foods filled my backpack to the brim. Oh, and some rope and tools I stole from Stan's garage after school were in there too.

I had dressed in all black for this occasion. Hopefully that boring asshole up there had thought to do the same under his usual clothing.

Speaking of him, I was becoming rather satisfied with how he was obeying me now. I didn't think sugar had _that_ much of an effect on him, but damn, was I wrong!

I enjoyed testing his limits of obedience just a while ago. It was such a power trip for me. I had him retrieve snacks for me, stay on the ground until I decided on what to do with him, rub my feet, wash his hands before eating—even though I hadn't—and finally, I had made him say I was awesome (and not fat) every time he wanted some food.

This was so cool; it was like having a personal slave! Too bad he wasn't Jewish. Maybe I should make him convert into a dirty Jew in exchange for his next candy bar.

When I heard him padding down the staircase, I spun around and the words flew out of my mouth immediately when my eyes set on him. "Why aren't you wearing black, you dumbass?!"

"I didn't bring any other clothes," he informed me with an expressionless face, as if it wasn't a big deal. He wiped his damp hands on his pants and stopped a few feet from me, appearing as ready as the world to go.

I slapped my forehead in annoyance. It was Butters all over again. I could practically hear his irritating hick accent contradicting all intelligence that I had ever heard out of him.

"Clyde, how do you expect to sneak around at night without any dark clothing?"

"Uhh… I don't know," he replied intelligently. "I forgot."

"I know you did, Clyde. I know you did." Before he could say anything more, I beat him to it. "Okay, you know what? Just stay here while I go get you something." Sneaking into other people's houses was a talent of mine, so I kept a lot of appropriate clothing lying around whenever the urge struck me. And right now, that urge was beating me over the fucking head with an aluminum baseball bat.

I recalled that his pants were grey, so they'd blend in well. His red sweater, like the one I was wearing earlier, is a beacon to anyone who was paying close enough attention—like the Jews.

I ripped a black sweater from its hanger in my closet and as an afterthought, I also took a black beanie-type hat from one of my desk drawers. I returned to where he was waiting quickly. I thrust the clothing at him and tapped my foot while he pulled the sweater over his head.

"It's too big," he complained. I grew pissed off.

"It's fine! Don't be such a whiny little bitch!"

He graced me with one of his half-assed glares and pulled on the equally large beanie over his mused brown hair. I looked him over. The sweater was hanging off one of his shoulders, exposing the red clothing underneath, and it went to his knees. The hat slid down to nearly over his eyes.

"I don't know about this, Cartman," he said, pushing the hat up and pulling at the sweater.

I thought for a moment. Damn Clyde being so needy and making me do extra work for him…

Mahm had a black scarf somewhere in the pantry down here for when she needed to grab it in a hurry. She spent most of her time in the kitchen, so it was no surprise that she had something like that near it.

I wandered into the kitchen and into the pantry, flipping the light on. Sure enough, there was a long black scarf dangling from a rusty hook on the wall. I grabbed it and left after turning the light off and shutting the pantry door. Goddamn, I think we can finally go.

I hurriedly wrapped the scarf around Clyde's neck and shoulders. There was a lot of extra material that was unable to be wrapped anymore, so it dragged on the floor. Clyde definitely wouldn't be noticed now. He was buried in black clothing.

From the depths of all of it, Clyde inquired weakly, "Can we go now?"

I smirked in response, even though he probably couldn't see it. "Yes… I think we're finally ready to go…"

That Jew wouldn't know what hit him—unless it was his Jew gold that he was so protective over. We wouldn't have any trouble tonight.

"C'mon, Clyde!" I grasped his hand and pulled him towards the door eagerly. I could see that the sun was already beginning to set.


	4. Eric Theodore Cartman

**Disclaimer: **_South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Candy Wrapper_

**Complete Story Summary****:** Eric Cartman exploits the sweet tooth of Clyde Donovan while aiming for Kyle Broflovski. What he didn't count on was changing Clyde's whole outlook.

**Story Pairings: **Eventual Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan, one-sided (obsession, not love) Eric Cartman/Kyle Broflovski.

**Story Rating****: **M

**Chapter Content****:** Explicit language, some anti-Semitism, general discrimination, implied desecration of religious symbols.

* * *

**Chapter Summary:** Cartman and Clyde succeed in breaking into Kyle's house when their plan is suddenly ruined.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Eric Theodore Cartman**

"Subordinate, what do you see?"

I blinked and brought the binoculars Cartman gave to me up to my eyes. I looked through the multiple windows of the Broflovski house, searching. What exactly was I looking for? I decided to name off a few things. "Uh… Some furniture, a television, Jewish decorations…"

I cried out when Cartman hit me over the head.

"Dumbass, what are the Jews doing?! I don't care about what's in their house!"

"Oh…" It would have helped if he had been more specific originally. "Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski are putting their coats on in the living room. Kyle's little brother is sitting on the couch. I guess they're talking." I raised the binoculars to look at the second floor. "Kyle's… oh, he's putting clothes on."

I took my eyes away from the house to give him privacy. Peeping in on other guys was gay. I noticed Cartman's hand twitching slightly.

"Clahyde, give me the binoculars."

"Okay." I handed them to him. I continued watching what the other Broflovskis were doing downstairs. More talking. When are they going to leave? I was tired of crouching in the bushes of the house across the street from them, and all this clothing was heavy.

I turned my head to ask Cartman what we were going to do next, but I was surprised to see the binoculars trained on Kyle's room's window. "What are you doing?"

He dropped the binoculars as if they were on fire. "Nothing," he muttered. Was it the cold that made his cheeks so rosy?

I shrugged to myself and picked the ocular device up to resume my viewing. "They seem to be ready. They're probably just waiting for Kyle to finish."

A couple seconds later, Kyle came down the stairs and joined his family in front of the couch. He said something to them, and they nodded, coming towards the front door.

"What do we do now?" I inquired quietly, gathering up the trailing length of my scarf so I could be ready to run if Cartman suddenly signaled to do so.

"Okay, listen. When they get into the car and drive away, do not start running across the street. Got it?"

I nodded in understanding, but I had a question. "Why?"

He huffed and rolled his eyes. "Because," he stressed, "we have to look out for any neighbors or open windows. If anyone is watching, they'll turn us in!"

"Ohh." That made sense. "What do we do if Kyle and his family have to come back for something?"

"Good question, subordinate." He broke off for a moment and eyed a window to a house a little ways down with the curtains open. "If they come back and I'm already up in Kyle's room, you'll signal me by barking like a dog. Bark twice if they're coming down the road, bark three times if they're in the driveway, and bark five times when they're coming into the house."

I blinked, silent for a moment as I contemplated that, watching as the Broflovskis backed out of their driveway in their car. "Why not four times?"

"Huh?"

"You skipped from barking three times to five times."

"Oh, well… Shut up, Clahyde! Goddamn."

I grumbled to myself. Fatass didn't want to admit that he had miscounted.

He suddenly tensed, holding up a hand. "Okay, on the count of three, we'll run across the road as fast as we can. One… two… three!" He lunged out of the bushes and waddled as fast as he could across the street, making more noise than necessary with his pants and "Oh, my god!"'s.

I wasn't much better myself, but at least I kept my heavy breathing to a minimum. However, the run could have gone better without all the black clothing weighing me down.

We hurried up the driveway to the walkway that led to the front door and tromped through the snow to the side of the house. That's where we dropped down into the cover of the shrubbery, wheezing and gasping from the physical exertion and rush of adrenaline like a couple of chain smokers.

I couldn't help a small smile that slid onto my face. This was kind of fun.

Cartman was completely serious as he allowed the backpack on his shoulders to drop to the snow. I wordlessly tossed the binoculars on top of it.

"Now what?"

He glanced around dramatically, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I have to add a few more signals before we continue. Do you remember the last ones?"

I opened my mouth to tell him that I didn't because I had already forgotten, but he slapped a hand over my lips.

"All right, good. Okay, I want you to meow like a cat if a neighbor is walking down the street this way, quack like a duck if someone looks out their window from across the street, and roar like a lion if a car that doesn't belong to the Jews comes."

I furrowed my brow. There was no way I could remember all of this.

"Oh, and make a frog noise if you need my attention for any reason that I haven't already listed. Okay?"

My brow remained furrowed. "Clyde Frog?"

"What? …Clahyde, goddamn it." He grunted in acknowledgment at my joke at his expense before tugging a grappling hook out of his backpack, scattering all the junk food.

I smiled. He had brought snacks for me to eat while I waited. But… "Where did you get a grappling hook?"

He looked uncomfortable. "There was this guy… and his gang… they were selling… you know… Don't worry about it."

I decided not to question further.

He swung the hook around his head a few times, and I confusedly opened my mouth to ask if he realized that glass was covering Kyle's window.

Before I could say anything about it, he had tossed it upwards to the edge of Kyle's window—breaking the glass.

I cried out, leaping out of—what I thought was—the way of the scattering shards raining down upon us. I gasped in horror when a piece became embedded into my shoulder.

Cartman cursed colorfully.

I couldn't help the tears that welled up in the corners of my eyes at the pain. I began sobbing uncontrollably, clutching at the bloody wound and piece of glass.

"Goddamn it! Ugh, Clahyde, stop crying!"

I didn't pay attention to him.

"I'm _seriouslah_! Stop crying, you whiny little bitch! It's just a piece of glass… and it's not even that big!"

I swiveled my head around to look at the size of the glass shard. It sure looked big… My tears didn't let up. "C-Cartman," I blubbered, "I-I need to go t-to the hospital…"

"No, you don't! We need to finish the _plaaan_!" he whined at me, disregarding the blood that was coloring the snow beneath me.

I couldn't believe he could be that heartless. Actually, I take that back. I _could_ believe it. I just didn't want to. I took a few wobbly steps towards the road, but he intercepted me quickly, pushing me back.

"_Here_!" He ripped a candy bar from his jacket pocket and presented it to me. "Now stop crying!"

My sobs died down a little, and I accepted the chocolate, opening it. I could taste my tears, and I didn't like it. I needed something to mask the flavor. I nibbled on the candy, and the pain in my shoulder just seemed to fade away into the background.

Small hiccups interrupted my chewing every once in a while, but for the most part, I had stopped crying.

I heard Cartman breathe a sigh of relief.

"Okay, let's continue." He tugged on the rope that was connected to the grappling hook above us, ensuring that it was strong enough for him to climb.

With a grunt, he heaved himself upwards, his hands tightening around the rope.

I could tell it took some effort to pull himself up, and it made me smile a bit at how comical it was. I seated myself on snow comfortably and licked at the chocolate in my hand, watching him ascend as if this were a dinner and a show. I didn't know why, but there was something strangely satisfying about Cartman's situation being unfavorable to him.

* * *

I felt like I should have gotten some kind of medal or award for climbing all the way up this goddamn rope into Kyle's room. My limbs felt as if they were on fire, and I was sure that I had rope burn—even through my thick yellow gloves.

With a final burst of strength I didn't know I had, I climbed through the broken window. Kyle was going to be pissed. I could already picture his furious eyes and reddened cheeks… and that voice accusing me of everything bad that goes on in his life. Mmm…

I love it when I'm the cause of all that delicious anger.

I carefully maneuver myself through the bits of broken glass littering Kyle's carpet and can't help but smile at how the unsuspecting Jew will walk all over this glass when he gets home, having most likely already shed his shoes and socks. His feet will bleed, painting the floor a prettier color than that of this ugly, non-fluffy shit for carpet that he currently has.

I'll probably spend more time than necessary in this room, but Clyde will just have to be patient. Being here and coming so close to fulfilling my desire is like stepping back in time to the Holocaust. I don't expect that dumbass to understand.

…He better not be eating my snacks. I didn't bring them for him.

Ugh, whatever. It's best if I don't allow that to distract me right now. Time is precious; the Jews will be back in just a little while, and I have yet to pick a souvenir to take home. For a moment, I considered taking one of the numerous Jewish symbols, but I already had enough at home that I have mutilated. It just wouldn't be the same. It's not personal enough, you know?

Too bad he didn't have a pet. I'd have some serious fun with that. I flung open his closet doors and scan the contents. There had to be something…

I resisted the urge to giggle in pure, unadulterated, maniacal delight. _Score_! There it was, poking out from under a few board games—poorly hidden, though I wasn't complaining.

My happiness was rudely interrupted by the sounds of several different animals that definitely didn't belong in a small town like South Park. I huffed in annoyance. Asshole got his signals confused.

I didn't know what the danger was, I realized with a pang of panic. I hurried to the window to better communicate with my subordinate because my well-planned out indicators were being made a mockery of.

* * *

I had spent the time that the fatass had been in Kyle's room cushioned by the bushes where he had left me. I amused myself by drawing pictures in the snow with a discarded stick and munching on the treats that Cartman had left for me. I was also absentmindedly nursing my shoulder wound, but it wasn't giving much trouble anymore.

I was so into drawing a taco that I had forgotten to watch the road. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it had registered that I should be, but like most intelligent thoughts that came to me, it was disregarded.

I had the rest of my life to put effort into thought. Why start now? I was just a kid with simple dreams.

My stomach rumbled despite the junk I was loading it with. It must be the taco I was drawing. Mm, tacos.

I suddenly became aware of frantic voices drawing nearer. I dropped my stick and box of cheesy crackers and peered through the leaves that were shielding me from sight. I nearly gasped out loud and my first impulse was to alert Cartman.

Our parents were coming this way!

I couldn't remember what sound meant that people other than the Broflovskis were approaching, so I just tried a combination of random animals that appealed to me.

"Woof! Bark, bark! Grrr! Hiss! Uh… yak! Rwarr!" It became too much for me, and I broke out into a fit of coughs from overworking my throat and attempting to make noises that I wasn't made for.

"What was that?!"

I heard my mother's voice call out in alarm, and I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle myself.

"It sounded like it was coming from over there!"

I realized with a grip of terror that my father was spot-on with his deduction skills, and I whimpered after my coughs had subsided. I was _so_ going to get grounded… I glanced up to the window, and Cartman came into sight.

He glared down at me and inquired loudly, "Clahyde, what the hell? We went over the signals! What's the fucking problem?!"

If they had been slightly uncertain as to where the strange noises were coming from, they were absolutely sure now.

"Clyde?! Honey, is that you?! Oh, my god!"

I felt the familiar sting of tears struggling to form. I didn't want to be grounded…

"Dear, what… Are you hurt?! You're bleeding!"

Somewhere above me, I heard Cartman utter, "Oh, _balls_," accompanied with his frantic footsteps.

I felt my mother's arms wrap around me and lift me out of my little nest in the bushes. My father's voice floated all around me in varying tones of anger and worry. I heard Cartman's mother ask about the location of her son.

I bawled without abandon. "D-don't ground m-me! P-_please_! I-I didn't want a-any part i-in t-this!"

My parents didn't comment on that. Instead, my father questioned in a deadly calm voice, "Clyde, what did you do?"

My mother spotted the mess of a window on the side of the Broflovski house, and her gaze roved from the grappling hook to the shard of glass still embedded into my shoulder. My mom is an intelligent woman; it didn't take her long to figure out what had happened. This allowed her to ask the right questions.

"Clyde, is Eric Cartman up there? Did he throw the hook and break the window?"

I nodded an affirmation to both inquires, unconcerned with how Cartman would enact his revenge against me for turning on him. I just cared about making my punishment as least harsh as I could possibly manage.

Liane Cartman didn't appear very happy about what she was hearing. She moved closer to the damaged window and sternly ordered, "Eric Theodore Cartman, you get down here this instant!"

There was a moment of silence. It was a huge deal when your parents used your full name. Poor bastard.

Then, Cartman appeared at the window. "Yes, Mahm," he grumbled, discreetly stuffing something into his jacket. Well, not too discreetly if I noticed it.

We all watched as Cartman awkwardly slid down the rope from Kyle's room. I couldn't imagine how this night could get any worse.

…Shit, I take that back! No, please, I didn't think that!

The Broflovskis had returned.


	5. Little Puppet Dangling in Oppression

**Disclaimer:** _South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _Candy Wrapper_

**Complete Story Summary:** Eric Cartman exploits the sweet tooth of Clyde Donovan while aiming for Kyle Broflovski. What he didn't count on was changing Clyde's whole outlook.

**Story Pairings:** Eventual Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan, one-sided (obsession, not love) Eric Cartman/Kyle Broflovski.

**Story Rating:** M

**Chapter Content:** Explicit language, anti-Semitism.

* * *

**Chapter Summary:** Cartman and Clyde are caught by the Broflovskis.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Little Puppet Dangling in Oppression**

"Just what is going on here?!" Mrs. Broflovski exclaimed, hurrying up the walkway to where we were gathered.

I wiped away my tears as best as I could and edged backwards and behind my mother. Mom noticed this and unconcealed me, taking a few steps away.

"You're going to tell them what you have done before we take you to the hospital, young man," she reprimanded me firmly.

I chanced a glance at Cartman and saw that he had his arms crossed, and his glare was focused stubbornly at the slush at his feet.

"Uh, can you please explain why you are all gathered here in front of our house?" Mr. Broflovski interjected confusedly. Wanting to be a hospitable neighbor, he quickly added, "I mean, not that it's a huge deal or anything, but…"

Kyle came into view, and his eyes snapped from Cartman to me. His mouth was set in a firm line. Just the mere sight of the fatass ruined his mood. "Cartman? Clyde? What are you guys doing here?"

We had been asked to state our business by every member of the family except the youngest that we had attempted—well, _Cartman_ had attempted—to steal from, and I was pretty sure that we owed them an explanation.

I looked to Cartman for help.

He sighed, not meeting my gaze, and put on a sweet, innocent face. He met the intimidating stare of Mrs. Broflovski evenly and without fear. "My good friend Clahyde and I just had stopped by to give a gift to Kahl here… We were worried about… his condition."

Kyle's fury intensified and was directed at Cartman.

I resisted the urge to slap my forehead. Here we go.

"His condition? What do you mean, Eric?" Mrs. Broflovski questioned, arching a crimson eyebrow. She was pretty sure that she was aware of every condition of her own son.

"Poopsy-kins, please explain," Mrs. Cartman prompted when Eric had paused a few seconds too long for a dramatic effect.

I held my tongue. I knew when my comments were unneeded, and if I did try to contribute, I'd most likely ruin the entire lie. Cartman was an asshole, but he was good at making up convincing stories.

"Well…" Cartman added in a frustrated sigh for good measure, "…it's just that Kahl had wanted his… little problem to remain a secret. I had gone out to buy his medicine, and Clahyde here requested to come with, but I didn't realize that you guys wouldn't be home.

"I knew that neither Clahyde nor I could stay out long enough to wait for your return, so I just wanted to try to put the medicine in his room so that when he came back, he'd see it, and all his problems would be washed away." Cartman emphasized his point with hand gestures and closed his eyes.

"Bubbala, what condition is he talking about?"

"I'm sorry to say this, Mrs. Broflovski, but it's a very serious case of genital warts," Cartman interrupted before Kyle could defend himself.

"What?!" Kyle nearly screeched, his eyes wide in disbelief and horror at the mere idea.

"My son has genital warts?!" Mrs. Broflovski looked like she was about to faint.

Mrs. Cartman grimaced in sympathy. I shuddered to think that she might have personal experience with it.

My parents were disgusted, I could tell, but they kept it hidden well.

"He's lying!" Kyle shrieked, balling his hands into tight fists.

Cartman dug into his backpack for something. When his chubby fist closed around it, he tossed it to Kyle. "There you go, man. I hope they ease up soon."

I read the tube's label from where I was standing. _Wartrol_. I suppressed my snickers. I had to admit… I was impressed with Cartman. I smiled. Then remembered the situation. I coughed into my fist and quickly frowned in fake sympathy.

It became deadly silent.

Kyle was staring down at the tube of Wartrol with an unreadable expression. I held my breath.

"You…" Kyle uttered quietly. "You…"

Cartman waited patiently for him to continue. "Yes, Kahl?"

Kyle's head snapped up, and I flinched at the pure hate in his green eyes. "You _asshole_!" His cheeks were burning.

Even I understood. I didn't matter if it wasn't true. It would be hard to convince his parents—and mine—that what they had heard was untrue, and the only evidence to prove Cartman wrong would be to drop his pants right there and show off his healthy, developing genitals.

I know I couldn't do it. Especially if there were women watching.

My eyes flew wide open, and my jaw dropped as a cracking noise echoed across the neighborhood.

Cartman dropped to the snow, his hands clutched over his wildly bleeding nose that had no doubt been broken by the angry punch thrown by Kyle.

I chewed on my bottom lip in anxiety. Was he going to punch me like that too? To my surprise, I found that he merely looked at me and shook his head in disappointment.

"You shouldn't hang out with this fat asshole, Clyde," he advised in a dull tone of voice. He pelted Cartman on the head with the tube of genital wart cream before entering his house. His bewildered parents didn't know whether to follow their violent son or comfort Mrs. Cartman, who was becoming more and more frantic.

"Eric, we need to get you to a hospital right away!" Mrs. Cartman cried, ushering him towards the sidewalk.

"Mrs. Cartman, come with us. We have to take Clyde to the hospital as well," my father said, gesturing to my injured shoulder.

She nurtured me with her motherly look. "Oh, dear! You poor thing…" She motioned to us with her hand, the other planted on Cartman's shoulder, rubbing, to calm his high-pitched screams.

After many hurried apologies from the Broflovskis for their son's outrageous behavior, together, we hurried to my house—to the car.

* * *

"_Yeaaah_, looks like I'll be out of school for a little longer," I bragged while on the phone with Kenny. "If I hadn't thrown a few punches in myself, those bikers would have killed me." I examined the fingernails of one hand with relative interest, while the other held an ice pack firmly against the bridge of my nose. I knew my voice probably sounded stranger than I had hoped, what with a broken nose and all.

"Dude, that sucks."

I vaguely heard a stifled yawn through the phone. That pissed me off. "Well, fine! I thought you would care, Kenny, but I guess you can just kiss my ass!" I slammed the phone back onto its receiver and huffed angrily.

Po' white trash.

Mahm was letting me stay home until my nose had healed enough to where it would stop hurting me so much. It had been a week since Kyle had broken my goddamn nose, and I still couldn't believe that the skinny Jew had that much strength in him.

It made me mad, sure, but I couldn't help but feel that his injury made us closer. Closer enemies—naturally—but that was something, right? I mean… it's not like I want to actually be involved with that kike.

It was a born fact, written in the sand, carved into stone, scraped into bark. Eric Cartman does not involve himself with Jews. From the moment I had entered this world, falling feet first into the doctor's arms, it had been decided that me and the Jews would never totally get along.

However, that didn't mean that I couldn't entertain some special attention onto a single Jew. It wasn't love. It wasn't attraction. Hell, it wasn't lust—I'm nine years old, for Christ's sake! It was merely obsession.

I want to possess Kyle. I want to own him, to fill him with my own store brand of stuffing, sew him up with cheap black thread, and dress him with patchwork clothing as I please. He will be mine to torture and command.

The lowly Jew beneath the feet of the oppression and hate. The slave to the reincarnation of all the anti-Semitism that exists, past, present, and the distant future. The puppet manipulated by the hand that proudly juts into the air.

"_Heil Hitler_!"

I opened my eyes and realized that I had gotten too into my thoughts. I lowered my hand out of its salute to my idol and folded both hands atop my desk. Hmm.

I needed someone to boss around.

I hadn't talked to Clyde since we were both discharged from the hospital the same night we had tried to break into the Jew's house. I had successfully gotten him out of trouble then, but when the fat Jew bitch had called both of our parents to inform us kindly that we had broken Kyle's window, we both had been grounded for a week.

Today was the last day of our grounding, so I felt like I should call him. He was probably still pissed at me, but I didn't give two shits. I had saved him from a much longer sentence.

Oh.

I almost forgot.

Gleefully, I reached into the bottom drawer of my desk and retrieved a wooden box that was locked. The key was on a chain around my neck, under my clothing. Ever since I had found it in Kyle's room, I could hardly keep my hands off of it.

I unlocked the box with my key and laid my eyes upon the photo once again. I snickered in pure sadistic delight and carefully removed it from its protective shelter. I gently placed it on my desktop and tucked my hands under my chin, propping myself above it. My eyes roamed every inch of its surface, memorizing the details.

It was clearly a photo from his infancy. He was a small baby of about two years with curly red locks and a near-toothless grin. Freckles shone like beacons, smattered on his fair-skinned cheeks and nose. He was clothed in a flowery green dress, complete with white stockings and sandals.

I couldn't stop grinning. There was so much possibility with this picture. I could finally get Kyle to suck my balls by blackmailing him with it. Or I could just make copies of it and pin them up around the school to really ruin his life. Oh, man, the guys would never let him live it down!

I was almost rocking my chair in my excitement. I could hardly wait to get started! But first…

I snatched the phone up and dialed a number.

"Hello?" I heard his dull voice filter through.

"Clyde, you will never guess what I found!"

There was silence for a moment.

"Cartman, will you just leave me alone? You've gotten me into enough trouble already."

"Dude, come on! I really have to share this with you! It'll make that week of grounding completely worthwhile!"

He sighed. "Fine. This better be good. I'll be over in a minute."

"Great!" I whooped, but he had already hung up. "Asshole."

Even if I was hung up on, that wouldn't ruin my mood—nothing could. Not right now. Oh, no, this picture didn't deserve to be given to Kitty as a toy.

I'm hanging onto it from now on.


	6. Cupcake à la Kyle

**Disclaimer:** _South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _Candy Wrapper_

**Complete Story Summary:** Eric Cartman exploits the sweet tooth of Clyde Donovan while aiming for Kyle Broflovski. What he didn't count on was changing Clyde's whole outlook.

**Story Pairings:** Eventual Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan, one-sided (obsession, not love) Eric Cartman/Kyle Broflovski.

**Story Rating:** M

**Chapter Content:** Explicit language, anti-Semitism.

* * *

**Chapter Summary: **Cartman and Clyde begin their plan for revenge against Kyle (for leaving his window closed).

* * *

**Chapter Six: Cupcake à la Kyle**

I stretched upwards to ring the doorbell of the Cartman household, rubbing my arms to generate some heat. I hated Colorado.

Why couldn't my parents have picked somewhere warm to live, like Florida? It really made a lot of sense to move to a redneck, unknown town in Colorado, of all places, when there were cities like Miami or Sacramento.

I don't know why I even bothered to come here. Hell, maybe I was curious as to what Cartman had taken from Kyle's house. Of course, this little visit had cost me another lie to my parents. I was such a perfect son.

I found that I didn't have to wait as long as I usually did—Cartman took his sweet time opening the door or his mother did. I blinked in surprise when only ten seconds after I had rung the doorbell, Cartman swung the door open.

I noted the icepack he held firmly to his broken nose. Strangely, it didn't make me any happier.

"Dude, c'mon! I have to show this to you!" He dragged me into his house by my sleeve.

I grunted in annoyance and ripped my arm back. He was going to fucking stretch my clothing. Despite my negative reaction, he regained a hold of me, and I found myself being led upstairs to his room.

"Over _nya_! Look!"

I followed his excited pointing to his desktop and hopped up onto his chair to see what he was so damn hyper over. My eyes fell upon feminine, baby Kyle, and I felt my jaw drop open stupidly.

Cartman burst out laughing at my response, falling to the floor and pounding the carpet with his fist. "Oh, my god! Hahaha, isn't it the best?!"

I began snickering quietly, and my bad mood dissipated. Eventually, I was joining in the hysterical laughter, having found myself too amused to care that I had fallen backwards onto the floor next to Cartman and was clutching my abdomen at the pain from the force of the humor.

"So," Cartman propped himself up with one elbow, cupping his chins with one hand, laughter dancing in his eyes, "what do _you_ want to do with it?"

I froze at the silky tone of his voice. I swallowed a lump in my throat, my eyes locked with those dark brown eyes that were a color very similar to my own; the only difference between mine and his was that you could tell he was an asshole just by looking into his eyes. I shook myself out of my faggy analysis of Cartman's eyes and realized that he was still waiting for my answer. "Uh… I don't know, dude. What do you want to do with it?"

A sadistic smirk slid over his face. "Glad you asked, Clahyde. Glad you asked."

I shivered slightly though it wasn't cold in his room.

* * *

I stood at the town photocopier, sliding in the blackmail picture of Kyle. Once it was into place, I pressed a couple buttons without hesitation (this was something I did often). Clyde peered over my shoulder at the console, shaking his head at complexity of it.

"What does this do?"

I glanced back at him, dumbfounded. "It makes copies of pictures."

"Oh."

I rolled my eyes, returning my attention to the photocopier. I had set the copy size to 148mm x 105mm. It had to be small enough for my master plan but not to the point where nobody could clearly make out the details of Kyle.

The machine beeped loudly, signaling that it had finished making eighteen copies—nine little pictures evenly spaced, fully colored, and laminated (as customized by the amazing Eric Cartman) on two pages. I took a moment to admire how they turned out, but there had been no doubt in my mind that they would have turned out crappy.

Clyde ooh-ed and ah-ed over them, making me proudly puff out my chest.

"So what now?"

"Now we make cupcakes."

"Why can't your mom do it?" Clyde whined, clearly not in the mood for baking pastries.

"She's out to work today!" I snapped, motioning for him to follow me. I had pre-paid the machine—it was required for use—so I wasn't walking out without paying or anything. We made our way down the snow drenched sidewalks of South Park, weaving our way through the legs of the adults and pushing through hoards of little kids that were enjoying their last day off before another week of school. I enjoyed getting them all wet with snow.

The local grocery store came into our sight, and I entered it with Clyde close behind. He tried to engage me into conversation as we located the cupcake mix aisle.

"You still haven't told me what we're doing with little pictures of Kyle, tape, toothpicks, and cupcakes."

"Goddamn it, Clyde!" I snarled, my patience wearing thin. This kid was so damn slow! "Put them all together. What do you get?"

That gave me some quiet time to choose my favorite cupcake mix and icing—as well as sprinkles, gummy bears, and decorative cupcake muffin tins.

"You're going to put his picture on the cupcakes and serve them to the class?"

"Exactly." I grinned wickedly. "No kid can resist a cupcake, so everyone will take them and look at Kyle's picture… _even Kyle_!" I couldn't help but see the symbolism in a cupcake decorated with Kyle. _Mmm_. Kike cake.

I noticed that Clyde had yet to praise my plan or drop to his knees and worship me. "What's up with you?" I muttered, shoving my selections into his arms when I saw his eyes riveted to the ground. "We're going to get the Jew rat back for closing his window and getting us in trouble!"

"Yeah." Clyde attempted a half-hearted smile.

I decided to ignore the moody asshole and waddled over to a checkout line that was empty. I watched as the other boy piled the stuff onto the conveyor belt before tossing my mahm's credit card to the pimpled teenager that was stationed at our checkout.

I clapped a hand on Clyde's back in what I thought to be an encouraging way. I disregarded the fact that he stumbled forward a couple wobbly steps when I did so. "Cheer up, Clyde. If you're mad because you think you'll only get one cupcake, then I think that you should just get the fuck over it." With a bright smile, I shoved past him to retrieve the credit card and grab the bagged purchases from the teenager. They were deposited into Clyde's arms, and together we made our way home for more blackmail preparation.

* * *

I don't know how many times I have heard "Kahl" today. I think I lost count with the first sentence I had heard today with the name in it.

I was so frustrated because I couldn't figure out why it bothered me so much to hear Cartman ramble nonstop about the Jewish boy. In the past, I never cared. Cartman could have called the kid every bad name in existence and I wouldn't have blinked.

So why, as I stare at the back of Cartman's brown-haired head, do I wish that some of that energy of his was directed towards me? It seemed that all Cartman spoke about—thought about, read about, wrote about, fucking _cared_ about—was a boy that he claimed to hate.

Maybe I was just annoyed with the redundancy. Kyle this. Kyle that. Kyle there. Kyle nya.

I know that everyone in this town pretty much hates Cartman, but it's just because they've never gotten to really know him. It's lame as hell, but I think he's pretty cool. In a strange sort of way.

Most of his schemes are retarded, but once in a while, he comes up with the sneakiest plans ever. I can't help but be impressed by his creativity. I know I could never come up with half the stuff he did. I was just Clyde. The background prop. A toy sitting ready to be manipulated by the right person.

Why the hell am I thinking so into this anyway? I was just happy to finally be a part of something remotely interesting. With Craig and the other guys, all we ever did was go over to each other's houses and play video games or watch television during our weekly sleepover parties.

But here I was in Eric Cartman's kitchen, helping him get revenge on a kid I hardly knew. How did _that_ happen, right?

"Ay, Clahyde, get a cup of water."

I did as he asked and listened as he poured it into the mixture in the bowl that was in his clutches. He roughly stirred the cupcake mix, grunting and complaining about how thick it was. I couldn't suppress a grin. He was so weak. He noticed my amusement and immediately smacked it off my face with his wooden spoon.

I yelped in pain, grabbing at the spot on my cheek where pain was flaring up and no doubt turning the skin red. I could feel splatters of mix coating the side of my face. I glared at Cartman, seething. I didn't know why I put up with him…

He reached over and swiped a finger through the sweet tasting mixture adorning my cheek, licking at it. "Mm." He was the one to grin now. "Tastes even better when you're in pain, _Clahyde_."

Ah, that's why I put up with it. I cursed myself when I felt my stomach knot up with a guilty satisfaction. What the hell was wrong with me?

"Well, I'm gonna leave this crap in the fridge all night. When Mahm gets back tonight, I'll tell her to bake it in the morning before school," he announced, dropping his spoon into the bowl and wiping his hands with a nearby dish towel. "All we need to do now is tape those pictures of Kyle to the toothpicks so Mahm can quickly put them in after the cupcakes are done baking."

I nodded in understanding, following him to the table where we had set everything up.

I never thought the day would come where I preferred the company of Cartman over my own group of friends. Or the day when arts and crafts were fun. But why did I hate this situation so much? Why did I want to burn every single picture of Kyle that was on this table and rinse the cupcake mix down the sink?

Sighing quietly so as to not alert Cartman to my lack of enthusiasm, I continued my taping.


	7. A CD Player Victory

**Disclaimer: **_South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Candy Wrapper_

**Complete Story Summary: **Eric Cartman exploits the sweet tooth of Clyde Donovan while aiming for Kyle Broflovski. What he didn't count on was changing Clyde's whole outlook.

**Story Pairings: **Eventual Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan, one-sided (obsession, not love) Eric Cartman/Kyle Broflovski.

**Story Rating: **M

**Chapter Content: **Explicit language, anti-Semitism.

* * *

**Chapter Summary: **The boys have a sleepless night.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: A CD Player Victory**

Today, I will enact my revenge on Kyle. I was so excited that I hardly was able to sleep during the night. Most of the time, I paced the length of my room, fantasizing about how the Jew would react to such humiliation. Would he cry? I hoped so. Like with that asshole, Scott Tenorman, I would not hesitate to lick the delicious tears from his freckled cheeks.

I licked my lips just thinking about it. I could live off of tears, serious_lah_. They were just so salty and satisfying—because most of the time, it was through my hard work and genius that they were produced.

I glanced sharply at my Wellington Bear clock sitting on the night stand beside my bed. It was 4:03 in the morning, and I hadn't attempted to shut my eyes and go to sleep at all. There were only a couple hours before I normally woke up, so I figured I'd just sit down and plan some more.

Or… thinking about Kyle always proved worthwhile.

I fell back onto my bed, sighing with a smile, placing a fresh icepack over my abused nose. I folded my arms behind the back of my head to serve a makeshift pillow, and I stared up at my ceiling.

I wish he'd take off his hat more. I just want to grab one of those red curls and pull at it as hard as I can before letting it go. I want to watch it spring back into place—assuming, of course, that Kyle's hair doesn't fall out easily from lack of a good conditioner.

And I had never thought that much about anyone's lips since the hoe, Wendy, kissed me back in third grade.

The smile fell from my lips when I realized that it existed because of anti-Semitic thoughts about Kyle.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I need… I need something else to think about before this gets out of hand. I can't go on listing positive traits about a fucking Jew… It goes against everything I believe in. And there is no way I'm changing _who I am_ for a kid that is such a butthole-tampon-dick-nutsack!

My mind wandered in search of something to occupy it since Kyle had been momentarily banished from it.

I rolled my eyes when Clyde came to mind. Hah, Clyde. What a dumbass. Though, I must admit that he makes an almost sufficient replacement lackey while Butters is realizing that he can't stay away from me for too long.

Who knows? Maybe he could grow to be better than Butters. He just needs to learn some obedience and not to talk back to authoritah.

Yep, those are the only _major_ flaws I can think of right now.

Aside from his grating monotone, his nasally voice, his dull personality, his boring brown hair and equally boring brown eyes, his lame red sweater (even though I wear one of the same color on a daily basis), and his altogether stupid disposition, he might be considered somewhat decent.

…I guess he is pretty fun to hang around when he isn't being a total killjoy. Damn Clyde. Thanks for the headache, you boring dick.

* * *

I sat up in my bed with the blanket gathered around me to shield me from the frigid Colorado air that was seeping into my room despite the lack of open window. My face was propped up by my hands, and my eyes listlessly scanned the wallpaper of my room.

It seemed like I was having a lot of sleepless nights now. It was the worst thing because I wasn't allowed out of my room until morning. I couldn't go downstairs to play video games, so here I was trying to make myself sleepy from total boredom. Needless to say, it wasn't working—as usual.

I was stressing over tomorrow. If Cartman's plan succeeded, Kyle would hold his attention even more. Cartman fed off of that negative energy. He loved to get a rise out of people, and Kyle was the easiest target around, aside from Wendy.

I hated myself for thinking about it, but I always wondered what it would be like to be one of Cartman's close friends. Kyle, Stan, and Kenny have known him since they were extremely young, and I was a fool for not joining them.

There had to be some reason why Kyle and Cartman still hung out with each other, right? Why, even after all the fights, do they continue to remain a group of four?

Why? Why, why, why? I rubbed my temples, struggling to come up with something.

Unfortunately, I didn't know either of them well enough to come up with an answer to that. However, anyone could tell outwardly that Kyle and Stan were best friends. If Stan wasn't there, would Kyle leave? Would Kenny stay with Cartman?

I knew from personal experience that Cartman had some sort of obsession with Kyle. Though, from my viewpoint—or anyone else's, for that matter—it seemed like he had a faggy crush on him… Why else would one boy focus so much on another?

I surprised myself with a sudden rush of anger, but I didn't care. I had to do something.

Cartman is _my_ friend.

* * *

Feeling oddly refreshed, I climbed out of bed when my mahm poked her head in to wake me for school. Sometime during the morning, I had become drowsy enough to fall asleep for an hour and a half. Maybe it was because of all those dumb thoughts I had about Clyde. He is so… dull.

My ears perked up when I heard Mahm call from down the hallway that she had finished baking my cupcakes and was just going downstairs to put the finishing touches on them.

I rubbed my hands together in victory. Nay, it wasn't quite a victory yet, but it was so close that I could feel myself salivating at the thought of Kyle's tears.

I dressed that morning with an extra bounce in my step.

After my morning routine had finished and I had grabbed my backpack, I tromped down the stairs to accept the containers of eighteen cupcakes in a plastic bag. I hummed a random tune cheerfully, skipping down the steps to my front door and down to the sidewalk, my eyes closing briefly to fully appreciate the morning sun's rays beaming down onto my face. It was a nice contrast to the coldness of the sack of ice pressed firmly against my nose.

I skidded to a stop when I opened my eyes and noticed Clyde standing awkwardly in front of me where my driveway and the sidewalk met.

"Oh, Clyde!" I greeted with much enthusiasm. He was _definitely_ better than Butters. Ready to go right when I needed him to be. I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him along with me. "I have everything ready, man. All we have to do is get permission from Mrs. Garrison to hand out these cupcakes during class. Think you can manage?"

Clyde glanced down at my hand on his shoulder and nodded with a faint smile. "Sure, Cartman…"

"Here," I shoved the plastic bag into Clyde's arms, releasing him, "you carry the goods."

He suddenly appeared suspiciously happy about that.

I disregarded it, for the bus stop was in view, and the assholes were assembled as usual. "C'mon!"

We took our spots near Kyle, Stan, and Kenny, but I refused to keep our presence a quiet one.

"Hey, guys!" I exclaimed, squeezing myself between Kyle and Stan with difficulty. I jarred Stan sideways a couple steps and turned my attention to Kyle. "'Sup, Jew?"

"What are you so happy about today, Cartman?" Stan questioned, rubbing his side where I had jammed an elbow in my efforts to get between him and his friend.

"Oh, nothing," I replied nonchalantly, though my lips still curled with a decidedly evil smirk. With my free hand, I reached for Kyle's hat without warning, longing for a curl to play with.

"What are you doing, fatass?" Kyle growled, swatting my wandering hand away.

"Huh?" I blinked, innocent. "I was just going to adjust your hat for you."

"Sure you were," he shot back, trying to wiggle his way out of my grip. "Could you get your damn hands off me?"

"Did I ever tell you how much I consider you my friend?" I inquired sweetly.

"We're not friends."

I rolled my eyes. "Duh, yes, we are, Kyle. That's why we shared AIDS. Remember?"

"Goddamn you, Cartman! Don't bring that up!"

"Kyle, stay HIV-positive!" I grinned happily, squishing the squirming boy closer to me, reveling at his warmth.

I didn't notice Clyde glowering at us, forgotten.

* * *

We piled onto the bus when it had arrived, me in the back of the line because I had been pushed there.

This was a different bus than last time. All the other kids use a more central location in town when riding a bus because, well, everyone just prefers to be with everyone else. And that is the bus stop I would be using had I not followed Cartman today.

Those four just had to be different from everyone else—use the bus driven by an unknown Latino man who just randomly showed up. Granted, once in a while they will use the bus stop in town, but rarely did that ever happen.

Stan and Kyle hurried in front of Cartman to grab one of the last seats on the normally empty bus, and Cartman flopped sideways onto a random seat in the middle section. I stumbled a bit from the force of his fall that shook the vehicle a bit.

I vaguely heard Kyle and Stan calling out to him, mocking him for his weight; he retorted with, "Whatever, guys, I'm big-boned!"

Kenny fell backwards into my arms, and he spared me a relieved look. With a muffled, "Thanks, dude," he sat down in a nearby seat by himself.

I walked at a slower pace, anxiously eying the lack of space next to Cartman. What would he say if I tried to sit next to him? Well, there was only one way to find out. Awkwardly, I took the last bit of room in Cartman's seat, my ass half hanging off.

He shot me a strange look, which I replied with a nonchalant shrug.

"Clyde, why the hell are you sitting next to the fatass? There are plenty of other empty seats!" Stan asked from behind me.

I swiveled my head around so he could hear my voice. "Uh… I don't know."

He and Kyle arched their brows at my response and shook it off. They engaged in a conversation about football. Normally, I would have added in my own comments, being a South Park Cows fan, but Cartman interrupted me.

"Clahyde, can you hold onto those cupcakes for a while longer?" His voice was low so as to not rouse suspicion.

I nodded, smothering a grin. "All right."

He smirked at me, patting my head as if I were a loyal pet.

I rolled my eyes at him before directing my attention to the front of the bus where I could watch the scenery. I didn't get a chance to say anything more to Cartman the rest of the way to school because he had pulled out a CD player to drown out the sounds of Stan and Kyle's jubilant laughter—or so I suspected that was why.

Kenny noticed Cartman's music device and quickly changed seats while the bus driver wasn't paying attention—not that he ever did. He kneeled on his new spot backwards, eying the CD player with desire, his hand stuck out expectantly.

It took Cartman quite a long time to realize that Kenny wanted to share the headphones and was alerted to this fact when the poorer boy decked him across the face in annoyance.

"Ay! Po' piece of shit, what do you think you're doing?!"

"Let me listen to it too, damn it!" Kenny growled, reaching for an earphone bud.

Cartman swore colorfully, rearing his head to my side. "No, Kenneh! That's Clahyde's!"

I was shocked when Cartman shoved the aforementioned headphone bud into my ear, filling my head with the jokes of Terrance and Phillip. I grinned gratefully at him, snickering to myself. Kenny was obviously pissed at Cartman's actions, as he flipped him off and returned to his other seat.

"Thanks, dude," I told him, enjoying my morning entertainment.

"I just didn't want his dirty-ass gloves all over my stuff." Cartman shrugged nonchalantly at me. "So don't think I'll make a _habit_ of this or anything."

I nodded, showing him that I understood. It was good enough for me. I resisted the urge to turn around and stick my tongue out at Kyle mockingly. It was a small victory but a victory nonetheless.

Take that, Jew.


	8. Knocked Off the High Horse

**Disclaimer: **_South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Candy Wrapper_

**Complete Story Summary:** Eric Cartman exploits the sweet tooth of Clyde Donovan while aiming for Kyle Broflovski. What he didn't count on was changing Clyde's whole outlook.

**Story Pairings:** Eventual Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan, one-sided (obsession, not love) Eric Cartman/Kyle Broflovski.

**Story Rating:** M

**Chapter Content: **Explicit language, anti-Semitism.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Summary:** Clyde and Cartman have a talk over video games.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Knocked Off the High Horse**

"Well, I have to admit that this is most irregular of you, Clyde and Cartman," Mrs. Garrison told us with a raised, plucked eyebrow. "Usually you greedy little bastards would keep something like that all to yourself."

We kept quiet.

She snorted. "Whatever, kids! Do what you want!"

Permission granted, I grinned at Clyde. I motioned for him to come up to the front of the class with me. He seemed nervous about something, folding his hands behind his back and eyes darting about. In his grasp was the plastic bag I had given him.

"Can I have your attention, class?" I savored the way everyone's eyes were suddenly on me, chatter ceased. I had left my icepack off for this little speech. "Thank you. Now, being the caring and considerate—and not fat—classmate I am, I have decided to share cupcakes with you all this morning."

"Cartman, sharing cupcakes?" I heard that bitch, Wendy, scoff, drawing giggles from her whore friends.

"Miracles do happen," Token added, drawing chuckles from his asshole friends.

I glared at them, forcing an almost pleasant smile onto my face—with an interesting twitch. Thankfully, Clyde kept quiet during all the jokes. Speaking of him, I noticed him getting strange looks. No doubt everyone wanted to know what a loser like him was doing with an awesome person like me.

"Yes, well, I am a miracle," I assured Token, the black dick, "and this is happening."

Clyde laughed quietly at my words. I smirked as Token rolled his eyes.

"Clyde, the cupcakes." I held out my hand, waiting for him to give me the bag.

With some hesitation, he did, and I instantly noticed how surprisingly light the eighteen cupcakes were. From the corner of my eye, I saw him clutch his stomach with a grimace. Dread filled me.

Subtly, I looked down into the bag when I pulled it open a bit, and was greeted with the horrifying sight of no cupcakes. I nearly snapped my neck with the force I put into swiveling my head to look at Clyde.

He avoided my gaze.

"Will everyone excuse us for a second?" Without waiting for any type of response from the class, my hand clamped down on Clyde's neck and dragged him outside, ignoring his protests. I slammed the door closed behind us.

"What the _FUCK_, Clyde?!" I raged at him, tossing the bag of empty cupcake holders onto the ground between us.

He jumped at my harsh tone, anxiously toying with his blue gloves. "I, uh…"

"Did you eat them?" My voice was deadly quiet and calm.

"…Yeah."

"Why, Clyde?"

"I was… hungry?"

I snorted, kicking the bag away from me. I crossed my arms and projected my glare onto the wall on the opposite side of the hallway.

"Sorry," I heard him mumble.

"Whatever," I huffed. I relaxed some, the anger draining out of me. I had plenty more schemes where that one came from. Plus, I just couldn't stay mad at someone so retarded. "I'm just wondering whose side you're on, Clyde."

"I'm on yours," he answered immediately.

"Yeah, really seems like it." Sarcasm bit at my words. We were quiet for a moment. "Eh, let's go back in. Revenge on Kyle can wait." Before I took a step towards the classroom, I just had to ask. "How the hell did you eat eighteen cupcakes?"

He groaned, holding his stomach in agony. "Don't remind me."

"Not hungry anymore, are you, you fatass?" I baited.

He kicked me in the ass when I turned around. "_Ay_!" burst out of my mouth before anything else. We entered the classroom in relatively better spirits. The class was staring at us, dumbfounded. They probably heard my yell in here and was surprised to see us somewhat smiling.

"Well, what 'bout the cupcakes, Eric?" Butters asked me, bouncing in his seat.

"I decided that none of you deserve any, so Clyde and I ate them outside," I told him, relishing in how his face fell in disappointment.

Mrs. Garrison scoffed.

* * *

I was getting my lunch from Mr. Derp, smiling at how everything was going for me. Thankfully, those cupcakes were digested better than I had expected, so I was ready for a tasty cafeteria lunch. After I had retrieved my tray and exited the lunch line, I paused. Who should I sit with today?

I didn't know if Cartman was wanting me to sit next to him (though with his reaction this morning to Kenny, I wouldn't doubt it if he wanted me to sit between them). But if I didn't sit with Craig, Tweek, or Token, would they say something about it? I definitely didn't feel like hanging with them today.

My eyes strayed over to Cartman's group. There was enough room for me. Yeah. Without a second more of hesitation, I made my way over to them. Unfortunately, I had to pass Craig and the others.

"Clyde!" I heard Craig call out over the noise of the cafeteria. I froze in mid-step, looking over at him, Token, and Tweek, who were all staring at me.

"What?" I asked, as if I didn't sit with them every day.

"Where are you going?" Craig asked, furrowing his brow. He gestured to the empty seat next to him wordlessly.

"Uh…" Damn, this was awkward. "I was going to sit with Cartman and them today."

Craig instantly glared at me. Token shrugged with a, "That's cool, man." Tweek spazzed out for a moment at the lack of normalcy before waving.

"Dude, what the hell?" Craig growled, jumping down from his seat and walking over to me. "Why do you want to sit with _them_? What about us?"

"I just feel like sitting over there today," I defended, giving him a glare of my own.

"Yeah, well, how often is this going to happen?" Craig was seething. "Pretty soon, you won't even look at us anymore, will you? You've missed the sleepover, the video game days, you don't sit with us at lunch, and at recess, you're totally out of it. Are you going to ditch us then too?"

I was speechless. Since when did Craig care so much?

"Whatever, Clyde. Just go hang out with your new friends." He shoved me away, and I was unable to catch myself, my lunch spilling all over myself and the ground, as well as this girl who was sitting at the table behind me.

From my position on the ground, I stared in disbelief at Craig while the girl behind me screeched about her new clothing being ruined.

My _friend_ turned around and retook his spot at the lunch table calmly. "If you ever think we're good enough for you, we're always here," he told me with a sneer. He flipped me off, but I knew it was more than just habit this time.

Token glanced around, embarrassed from our interaction. "Dude, stop. You're making a scene."

Tweek was nearly hyperventilating, torn between getting up to help me and angering Craig. He ripped at his hair in his agitation and indecision. "_The pressure_!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

I then noticed that everyone was staring at me. It didn't take long before laughter filled the room.

I felt my cheeks heat up, and I got off the ground, putting my milk carton back onto my tray. I brushed at some mashed potatoes that were clinging to my cheek. I forced myself to ignore everyone, making a beeline for the trash can. While I was dumping the contents into the bag, I felt a hand appear on my shoulder. Miserably forcing back tears, I turned my head to see who it was.

Cartman sighed dramatically, eying me up and down. "Clahyde, Clahyde, _Clahyde_, what am I going to do with you?"

He led me to the bathroom, stifling all the laughter as everyone looked at one another, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Craig glared daggers into my back. I winced.

* * *

I stood at the sink, shaking my head. "That was really embarrassing," I told him without an ounce of pity.

He half-heartedly shrugged. "I know…"

"Why do you let that asshole push you around like that?"

"I don't know…"

"You never know," I retorted. "Can you give me any straight answers here?"

Clyde stared at himself in the mirror, tracing all the new stains he had acquired. "He's just… scary sometimes."

I snorted. "Craig? He is far from scary. He's just easily pissed off. If you want to see scary, try spending the night with Kenny's po'-ass family." I shuddered at the thought of cold waffles for dinner.

Clyde didn't fully understand what I was getting at, but it got him to smile slightly anyways. He turned on the sink faucet to produce warm water and splashed his face with it, wiping away gravy, mashed potatoes, and bits of corn.

I knew it was totally inappropriate, but I couldn't help myself. "You look good when you've been humiliated."

He paused in washing food off of himself and slowly brought his gaze to meet mine. His mouth hung open slightly.

"What?" I asked, annoyed.

"…You think I look good?"

"Dude, I didn't mean it in a faggy way!"

He merely arched an eyebrow at my hasty response. "I didn't say anything about it being faggy."

"Smartass," I muttered, flicking a piece of corn out of his hair. "You know, that chick you threw food all over is going to make you buy her new clothes."

A chuckle burst from him. "Nah."

"I'm seriouslah. You know how chicks get about their clothes. And their hair. And their nails. And all that other shit."

We shared a manly smirk. His faltered after a couple seconds, and he busied himself with playing with a button on his red sweater.

"So, are you going to wear that all day?"

"I guess so. It's not like I bring extra clothing with me to school. I don't get pushed down often." He appeared disgruntled at that.

"Oh, boohoo, you got knocked off the high horse of Craig's group." I was unsympathetic. "Get over it."

"Where am I going to sit for lunch now?" he grumbled to himself.

I let out a dramatic sigh. "I _guess_ you can sit with me and the other guys since I'm such a nice person."

"Thanks." A smile spread over his face.

"Yeah, yeah, _whatevah_." I watched as he cleaned the rest of the corn from his hair. "Come over to my house after school. I got a new video game." The invitation left my lips before I could give it any thought. I coughed awkwardly. I couldn't figure out why it was awkward to suddenly have him over at my house.

"I'll have to ask my parents," he told me, adjusting his coat. He turned fully to face me. "What video game?"

"That new war game," I bragged.

His eyes lit up. "Dude, I'm there."

"All right, cool." I vaguely heard the sounds of students beginning to shuffle through the halls. "Ugh, lunch is over. Thanks a lot." I flipped him off, but it didn't mean anything.

* * *

I arrived home, calling out to my parents when I had opened the front door. "Mom? Dad? I'm home."

"Clyde, honey, come in here for a snack," my mom called from the kitchen. Without thinking, I did as she said and was greeted with a gasp of horror as she beheld the state of my clothing.

"What happened?" She knelt in front of me, pulling at my stained sweater.

"I fell during lunch." I shrugged. "My tray spilled all over me."

"I bet you didn't get to eat anything, did you?"

"No…" On cue, my stomach let out a rumble.

"Why not? Craig would share his food with a friend, wouldn't he?"

I rubbed at the back of my neck. _Seriously_, did she just ask that? Who shares lunch? "Uh, _no_...?"

She made a noise of displeasure, still fussing with my clothing. "Well, go upstairs and change. I'll make you something to eat."

"All right." I nearly left the kitchen before I remembered Cartman's invitation. "Oh, yeah, can I go over to Cartman's today to play video games?"

She pursed her lips faintly. "I don't know why you want to hang out with him all the time. His mother is… a bad influence."

"So?"

She picked up a dish at the sink. "…Okay, but be back before supper starts, all right?"

"I will. Thanks, Mom." I caught myself nearly skipping up the stairs in my excitement. I shook my head, correcting myself into a manlier walk, entering into my room to choose clean clothing.

* * *

"Wait up!" Clyde said to me, mashing down on one of the joysticks of my wireless Xbox controllers.

"Dude, you're going to have to be faster than that to keep up with me." I, too, fiddled with the joystick, breaking my character into a run.

We have been playing this game for nearly an hour now, and I must say that I was enjoying myself. Mahm kept bringing us snacks to our hearts' content, as well as sugary beverages. It was the perfect afterschool day.

Clyde paused the game without my permission and took a swig of the can of pop that was firmly held between his knees. "This is awesome."

"I know, right?"

"My mom never lets me eat or drink this kind of stuff anymore," he admitted, savoring the carbonated drink that went down his throat.

"Seriouslah?" I chortled at the thought. "That sucks!"

"Yeah…" he trailed off, digging into a bag of chips. He nosily chomped on them, staring at the television screen. Without warning, he asked, "What is it with you and Kyle?"

Great. I couldn't fully enjoy my food now that he had mentioned _him_. "Nothing. He's a Jew, and I just happen to be in the same group as him." I couldn't resist reminding everyone about the Kyle being Jewish part.

"You talk about him a lot."

"No, I don't!" I denied, tossing a Cheesy Poof at Clyde. I nervously fiddled with the box.

"Then why do we always have to do something that involves him?"

"We aren't right now, douche bag," I insulted without bite to it.

"I meant before today. You wanted so badly to take something from his room that you brought me into it all. What was up with that, anyways?"

"Stop your damn prying! I have my reasons…"

He did as I ordered, sipping at his drink. I had become worked up from his interrogation, shifting around on my spot on the couch. I reached for my icepack as my nose began throbbing.

"Well, I just want you to know that I'm glad you chose me." He grimaced after he had said that.

We shared a painfully awkward silence.

"No problem, man." I waved it off, picking up my controller. I waited for him to do the same.

We played without saying anything else until he had to go home.


	9. Break Out the Playboy

**Disclaimer: **_South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _Candy Wrapper_

**Complete Story Summary:** Eric Cartman exploits the sweet tooth of Clyde Donovan while aiming for Kyle Broflovski. What he didn't count on was changing Clyde's whole outlook.

**Story Pairings:** Eventual Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan, one-sided (obsession, not love) Eric Cartman/Kyle Broflovski.

**Story Rating:** M

**Chapter Content:** Explicit language, some anti-Semitism, some discrimination.

* * *

**Chapter Summary:** Clyde invites Cartman over to his house for a sleepover.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Break Out the **_**Playboy**_

"So… why's Craig glaring over here more than usual? Did you threaten to eat his guinea pig again, Cartman?" Stan inquired, rubbing at the back of his neck.

I chanced a quick glance over at Craig. Shuddering slightly, I averted my eyes quickly. I bent over to grab the football we were passing when I missed catching it.

Craig was… _pissed_. More pissed than I had ever seen him. It was kind of hard to make him that mad. I actually feared for my wellbeing. But… maybe he would just keep it at looks instead of action. He'll get over it. Right?

"No, that was only that one time. He called my bluff on it anyways," Cartman retorted, ignoring the first question that Stan had asked.

"You never bluff about that kind of stuff," Kyle shot at him. "You would eat a small animal, especially if someone paid you!"

Cartman snorted. "Hah!" He didn't comment further, instead focusing on catching a nice pass from Kenny. He tossed it to me, purposely using a shitty aim.

I sighed, turning around to retrieve it when it landed somewhere near the slides. I vaguely heard Kyle ask the others why I was suddenly hanging around.

"I don't know, dude. Why does it matter? I mean, Clyde's cool," Stan defended.

I smiled slightly, taking the football before one of the younger kids claimed it as their own.

"I guess," Kyle replied nonchalantly. "It's just that… Craig seems really mad with us. I think it's because Clyde's hanging out with us today. Maybe we should tell him to go back to Craig's group…"

"Fuck Craig!" Cartman's words ended all discussion.

I returned to where they were standing in a deformed circle and juggled the football between both of my hands.

"Well? Are you going to pass it?" Kyle butted in, his impatience showing.

"Uh-huh," I assured. With all of my strength, I heaved the ball over Kyle's head and was satisfied when it bounced off the fence quite a distance from us. I kept a blank face at Kyle's glower. "Well? Are you going to get the ball?"

Cartman and Kenny guffawed loudly. Stan shook his head in guilty amusement.

"Dear _God_, I think we have another Cartman in our group," Stan muttered, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

I smiled somewhat proudly.

* * *

There are a lot of things that I hate. Kyle, hippies, Jews, po' people, girls, Kyle, those who screw around in my hallways during my hallway monitor permissions, Mr. Kitty when she tries to take my food, my mahm when she's being a slow-ass bitch, Kyle, and other things like that.

Oh, and should I mention that I really hate Craig? I don't know what it is about that asshole that really pisses me off. It might be how he didn't let me into his house when Mahm brought that "dog whisperer" fucker over. It might be his uncaring attitude towards a lot of things. It might be because he outright said he hated me once.

And now he thinks he can glare at us all recess and then lunch? I'm trying to eat, and I can feel his eyes on me!

I'm starting to think that Clyde can just find a whole other group because I can't take it. If something doesn't happen soon, I'm going to have to kick some ass.

But… my eyes strayed over to the other boy. He was hunched over in his seat, poking listlessly at his lunch. He was a _sort of_ valuable servant. I couldn't lose him. Who else would I manipulate? I could honestly say that I was out of ideas at this point.

Damn Craig was going to have to suck it up.

My eyes lit up. Yeah. This was my victory against Craig. I had stolen one of his "loyal" group members and brought him over to my own group. He was probably feeling pretty damn crappy about the whole thing. If anything, I had bragging rights.

"Be right back," I said to anyone who was listening at my table, snickering gleefully. I tossed my empty tray into a trash can on my way over to Craig's table, which was looking pretty empty with only three people. I met the asshole's glare confidently.

I hopped up into Clyde's old spot, lounging like I owned it (which I did, seeing as how I owned Clyde). I turned my head to face him, the cheerful expression on my face contrasting sharply with his sour one.

"What do you want?" Craig grumbled. He plunged his plastic spork violently into his food.

"Looks like Clyde ditched you guys, huh?"

"I don't care."

"Actually, I think you _do_ care, Craig. Why else would you be staring at us all day? I think someone is _jealous_. I can practically taste it."

"Listen, Cartman," Token interjected, "you don't need to come over here and brag about Clyde sitting with you guys. It's not really that big of a deal. Clyde can sit with whoever he wants, and it's not worth it to rub it in our faces."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Clyde isn't a big deal?"

Token shrugged. "He's a friend, but I really don't care who he sits with. It's his choice."

"What say you, Tweek?" I shot suddenly at the spaz.

"Agh!" His eyes darted around, clearly feeling the pressure. "Err… Well, I think Clyde should—_ergh_!—be able to choose where he sits…" He mashed his hands together in his lap, breaking up his movements with random twitches.

"There you have it," I told Craig with unmasked satisfaction. "They don't have a problem with it. Why are you still being a little bitch about it?"

"I'm not!" Craig insisted, his voice faltering. "I don't fucking care!"

I watched him carefully, smirking with success when I noticed him wringing his hands nervously under the table.

"Don't worry," I patted his back, "I'll return him to you. Someday." Celebrating inwardly at Craig's steadily defeated stance, I removed my presence from their table. There was nothing like making Craig feel bad.

I heard Token mutter to him, "Dude, why did you let him get to you?" before I had left earshot of the table.

I was elated when I no longer found Craig glaring holes into my back for the remaining time left for lunch.

And I _guess_ it made me _slightly content_ to see that Clyde had relaxed significantly. I _guess_…

* * *

I didn't know how to thank Cartman. Hell, I didn't know if I _could_ thank Cartman. I didn't know how he'd take it if I thanked him for making me feel better.

It was definitely less nerve-wracking to have Craig no longer focusing all his anger on me. Though it did make me feel bad that he was unusually quiet nowadays. I wish he'd just let it go and be his normal self.

I wasn't ditching them forever. We were friends. I wasn't that much of a dick. Just at the moment, I had a new friend that I liked even more (for reasons I had yet to comprehend). Was that such a crime? Eh, I didn't feel like stressing over it so much. Craig would be fine.

But as to me showing my appreciation to Cartman, what could I do? I didn't want to just blurt out a thank-you in front of everyone. That was embarrassing for the both of us.

I could always get him an action figure or something. Or I could invite him over to play some of my video games. After all, he did do the same for me. Actually, since the end of the week was coming up, I could make it a sleepover.

I froze in the middle of the hallway, causing some girls who were too busy talking about shoes to bump into me. I ignored their angry protests.

Eric Cartman, sleeping over at my house? Just the two of us? Oh, God. I couldn't discern exactly how the thought of that made me feel. Maybe I should invite Stan and Kenny…

…No, it could be fun.

I'll ask him after school.

* * *

"Hmm. A sleepover, you say?" I asked, blinking in surprise. Usually I invited myself to those.

Clyde nodded, clutching his math and science books closer to his chest.

"Who's going to be there?" I had to ask. If Craig was going to be there, no fucking—

"Uh, just us."

I raised an eyebrow. "Just us?" This was unexpected. When have I ever been to a sleepover (except with Butters as a "Japanese robot") with just one guy? That seems kind of…

"Yeah."

"Well, that's… different."

"Look, if you don't want to come, just say so."

"Aw, what the hell? I guess I'll come."

Clyde visibly untensed his muscles. "All right, but I need to ask my parents if it's okay first."

I nodded, glancing towards the bus, which was leaving soon. "Why couldn't you have asked me this on the bus?"

"Uh… The other kids… I thought it'd be… kinda…"

"I get it, dude." I was actually relieved that he hadn't asked me on the bus with all the other kids. If someone overheard that I was going to a sleepover with just _Clyde_… I shuddered to think of what would be going around the school at that. Sleeping over with one dude was… unheard of.

"Well, I'll tell you tomorrow if it's okay with my parents," he told me, taking a few uncertain steps towards the ride home.

"Cool," I replied, following him.

We boarded the bus and took seats opposite each other.

What the hell was Clyde doing to me? I'm always more composed than this…

* * *

I hesitantly approached my mom and dad when they were seated upon our couch in front of the television after dinner.

"Hey, Mom, Dad?" I raised my voice a bit to be heard over _Wheel of Fortune_.

"Yes, Clyde?" my dad asked, drawing his attention away from the screen.

"Can I have Eric Cartman over for a sleepover on Friday?"

I watched my parents look at each other with similar looks of dread. My hopes dropped.

"Are you sure… that's a good idea, Clyde?"

"Wouldn't you prefer to have Craig, Tweek, and Token over?" my mom added quickly, furrowing her brow.

"No," I said bluntly. "I want Cartman over."

"You're hanging out with him an awful lot," my dad observed. "Are you sure he's a good friend?"

"Yeah, he's pretty cool."

My parents looked to one another for silent consultation. I could see that my mother was against the idea, but my father's resolve was slowly breaking.

"Dear, I think we should let Clyde have his little friend over. We can't deny him just because of how his mother is."

My mom didn't appear very happy at that. She returned her attention to the television screen wordlessly. I eagerly waited for my dad to turn to me and give me his answer.

"All right, Clyde. You can have your friend over. But you'll have to finish some chores and all of your homework before he comes over, okay?"

"Okay, Dad." I grinned. That went pretty well. Now I just had to remember to ask my dad whenever I wanted something. He couldn't say no to me. He wanted to please me, being my new shoe-store-owning father and all. Even if his shoes were one of the only ways I could get a girlfriend…

No, I wasn't a terrible son for exploiting that. I'd have to be fucking _retarded_ not to.

Just a couple more days to go. Oh, God, what were we going to do for fun? I wasn't prepared at all for hosting a sleepover…

Well, when in doubt, break out the _Playboy_.


End file.
